“Kotyonok,” he whispered, his sweet name for me warming me to my core. “You’re mine? You belong to me?”
Smiling through the emotions wrapping me in their hold, I nodded my head. “Yes. I am yours.”
Valentin tried to move but winced as a pain shot through him. Leaning away, I rolled up the sleeves of my sweater and said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to clean you up. I’m going to make the pain go away.”
Valentin gripped my hand, but when I smiled and nodded my head he let me go. I rushed out of the cell and up the stairs. The man Kisa had called Pavel was at the top. Straightening my shoulders, I ordered, “I need the heat turned on downstairs. And I need a list of other things sent down immediately!”
Pavel nodded his head without expression and minutes later brought down what I had asked for. I sat beside Valentin on the floor. “Thank you,” I said to Pavel, taking the supplies and feeling warmth from the heating vent raising the temperature of the cell.
As he was about to leave, I called, “Pavel?” He turned. “Can you bring down one of the gym mats I saw upstairs and some linen?”
He frowned at my request, but as I set to cleaning Valentin he brought them down. He soon left us alone.
I cleaned Valentin until I could see his beautiful fair skin once again. Zaal had cut him with something. I realized as I cleaned and poured peroxide on the slashes that I had no idea what Zaal was capable of. I loved him unconditionally. He was my brother. But, like Valentin and, I suspected, like Luka, Zaal was a trained killer.
Two monsters whom I loved.
As I pressed the last of the bandages and sterile strips on Valentin’s wounds, I pushed the supplies aside. Taking the gym mat, I pulled it to the corner of the room and dressed it in the linen Pavel had found. He had brought brand-new pillows and a comforter down. I suspected this had something to do with Kisa.
Once a pallet had been made, I turned to see Valentin getting to his feet. His legs shook with the effort. He swayed, and as he did I ran to help him balance, then led him to the bed.
He lay down, and I pulled the comforter over his body. I tucked him in and noticed his broad chest was rising up and down. His glittering blue eyes were on me. Wondering what was wrong, I slid beside him on the mat, sharing his pillow. I took his hand, pressing a kiss to his fingers, and asked, “What is it?”
His beautifully scarred face was conflicted, flushed and warm to the touch. The silence lasted so long I didn’t think he would speak. Then he did. “I’ve slept in a cage so long, that I don’t remember ever sleeping on something soft.” My heart sank and my throat clogged up. “I don’t remember ever having a comforter.” Valentin paused and, inching his head closer, he said, “And I know, memories or not, that no one has ever tucked me in. No one has ever cared about me enough to do that.”
“Valentin—” I said, my voice weak and hoarse.
Valentin cut in, “I have always been alone. My mama was always on drugs until she overdosed and died. And Inessa, Inessa has been on the drugs so long, she has little or no memory of me. I am alone. Always have been.”
“You were alone,” I pushed. “You were alone. Now you have me.”
Valentin’s chin dropped and he said, “I have nothing to offer you, kotyonok. I am nothing; you are a born printsessa.”
I shook my head. “You are wrong, Valentin.” I saw his mouth open to argue; then I said, “Maybe once I was somebody, a mafiya printsessa, if you want to call me that. But I am like you. I’m without parents. I have no power, no status, nothing. I am no printsessa. I am nothing, too.”
Valentin studied my face. As he shifted closer, his bare chest pressed against mine. His touch sent shivers to my core and stole my breath. Valentin turned his cheek and kissed my lower neck. My eyes fluttered closed, and he whispered, “You are not nothing. You are everything to me. You are my printsessa; my little Georgian printsessa.”“You have stolen my breath,” I whispered.
Valentin rolled until half of his chest hovered over mine. Looking me straight in the eye, his long scar bright now that he was clean, he whispered back, “You have stolen my heart.”
My heart swelled and I smiled. Placing my hand on his cheek, my thumb tracing the scar that was imprinted in my soul, I said, “Then we both are vory serdtsa; we are both thieves of the heart.”
Valentin growled at my words and crushed his mouth to mine. My blood burned with the desire to be with him again, but when he stiffened at the pain our contact caused I broke away. Valentin’s gaze blazed with anger. Pushing him to his back, I laid my cheek on his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Shh,” I soothed, and let my fingers drift over the muscles on his stomach. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll sleep and make love when you heal.”
Valentin held me as close as his injuries would allow. Breathing in the scent of my hair, he said, “You cannot stay down here. You cannot stay in these cells. You deserve more.”
Clutching him tighter, I responded, “I stay where you stay. And right now we are in the cells. I’m with you. That’s all that counts.”
Valentin said nothing else. After a long time as we lay in each other’s arms, Valentin reluctantly took some pills to help him sleep and heal. We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
I was in a cell, in a dungeon, in a corner of hell itself.
And I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be.
I blinked, and blinked again, as I tried to focus on what looked like a dark figure sitting just outside the cell. My heart kicked into a sprint as I wondered who it was. As if sensing my rising fear, Valentin held me closer, but the sleeping pills he had taken kept him locked in deep slumber.
I stared and I stared trying to make out a face. Then the shadow shifted position, the dim light revealing who it was.
“Zaal?” I whispered. I could not move from my side of the makeshift bed. Valentin’s arm was wrapped around my waist. Even in sleep, he wasn’t letting me go.
“It’s me.” Zaal’s deep quiet voice echoed off the walls.
My heart warmed on my hearing his voice. Having him close again after all these years. But there was an awkwardness, too.
“I can barely see you,” I said, squinting my eyes to bring him into focus.
“I didn’t want you to know I was here,” he revealed. His voice was sad in tone. I knew it was because I had hurt him.